Poison and Cure
by Blandge
Summary: The war didn't end after Voldemort's death for Harry. After years of hunting down the last remaining Death Eaters in Eastern Europe, Harry returns home to find that everybody has moved on. Haunted by his past, he finds solace at the bottom of a bottle.
1. Christmas in Germany

A/N: This is my first real attempt to write something of high quality, so updates will probably be fairly slow. The POV will jump between Luna and Harry as well as some others. Thank you to my betas moon and Macsen and to the others that have provided input.

Warnings: This fic explores the effects of addiction, alcoholism and PTSD, so if you have an issue with that, stop now. Rated M for sex, violence, death, gore, profanity and other adult themes.

Summary: The war didn't end after Voldemort's death for Harry. After years of hunting down the last remaining Death Eaters in Eastern Europe, Harry returns home to find that everybody has moved on. Haunted by his past, he finds solace at the bottom of a bottle. Is there anyone who can save him from drowning?

* * *

Poison and Cure

 _Chapter 1: Christmas in Germany_

Seeing him standing before her, here in England, was strange indeed. Even more bizarre was the easy-going smile on his face as he relaxed in the shade of a gnarled pendunculate oak. He looked exactly as she remembered, with his messy black hair and wire-rimmed glasses, except lacking the trademark gauntness he had developed. She had become so accustomed to the solitude of her field work that she couldn't think of what to say.

He, apparently, had no such problems. "Who am I?" he asked, his smile blithe and unnatural.

"If you don't even know that, how is anyone else supposed to?" she asked.

"Who am I?" he repeated. A hint of urgency crept into his voice.

"You're Harry Potter."

He opened his mouth again to speak, but all that came out was, "Tap tap tap…"

"Excuse me?"

 _Tap tap tap…_

Luna's eyes blearily fluttered open, and she rolled onto her side to glance at the little illuminated clock floating above her nightstand. It read quarter past two in the morning. She closed her eyes again, trying to recall the dream she'd been having. She could remember it seemed important, but it had already faded from memory, nothing more than a riddle for her subconscious to ponder.

 _Tap tap tap…_

The haze of sleep fled her mind as the tapping became insistent. She pulled herself out of bed, stepped into her fluffy bunny-rabbit slippers, and made her way to open the window.

A ruffled looking Eurasian eagle owl flew into the room and landed on her bed.

"Sorry for making you wait. Happy Christmas by the way," she said. It had turned December 25th a mere two hours ago.

"Looks like you've made a long trip," Luna said. Its feathers were in such disarray that she could see patches of down where its plumage was upturned. She interpreted the tone of its hoot as affirmation and gave it a pat on the head.

"Nothing a good preening won't fix." She offered the bird an owl treat, which it took gratefully, and then she retrieved the letter from its outstretched leg.

It was a Muggle postcard with a picture of a hotel on the front. Luna smiled. She had never received a postcard before. _How exciting_ , she thought. Turning it over, her heart leapt when she recognized the untidy scribbles.

 _Luna,_

 _I have 2 days leave in Munich. I'll be staying at Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten Kempinski in the city center. Ask for Don Fisher._

 _Harry_

She reread it thrice more to ensure there was no mistake, stopping at the name at the bottom each time.

"Harry's alive!" she cried, turning to her companion. "Isn't that wonderful?"

"Hoot."

Luna had not heard from Harry in over two years. The last letter she had received from him had been a similar cryptic note saying that he would be out of contact on some top secret mission. No explanation, no duration, nothing.

She later found out that each of Harry's friends had received the same letter. After a week they began to worry, but Ron assured them, with his signature sensitivity, that they would have been notified of Harry's death if he had been "offed." A year later, most of them had pushed that worry into the back of their minds and moved on with their lives, Luna included.

It did not take her long to decide that she would meet him in Munich. Two years ago, she had spent Christmas in seclusion, mourning the death of her father. It had been awful. Luna felt as if a haunt of dementors hovered above and around her family home the entire Yuletide Season. Was Harry facing the same loneliness?

At that thought, Luna lit her wand and began drafting a quick affirmative response to Harry.

"I'll probably get to Munich before you, but Mum always said 'Never leave a letter you were glad to receive unanswered,'" she said to the owl in her sing-song voice. The owl tilted its head.

"You can stay here and rest for a little while if you need."

Ignoring her, it hopped to the edge of the table and took off out the open window.

"Fly safe and say hi to Harry for me!" she shouted after it, waving.

Later, when she returned to sleep, Luna dreamed of a raven-haired boy with a lightning bolt scar.

* * *

Luna brushed the snow off of her shoulders as she walked into the lobby of the fancy hotel. It hadn't occurred to her that Germany would be much colder than England this time of year, but upon landing at the apparition point outside the government building in Munich, she was blasted by a gust of freezing wind. Oh well, it was nothing a quickly conjured poncho couldn't handle.

A bellboy ran up, speaking in German. "Guten Morgen, Fräulein. Darf ich Ihnen Ihren Mantel abnehmen?"

"I'm sorry, do you speak English?"

"Oh yes, sorry Miss. May I take your coat?" he asked with a mild accent.

"Yes, please," she said and handed her coat and scarf to him. She took the coat check ticket from him with a "Danke," before she approached the reception desk.

"Hello, I'm here to see Don Fisher."

After a brief exchange, the receptionist called over the bellboy and said, "If you vould follow Zoran he vill take you to Mr. Fisher."

"Danke," she said.

The bellboy lead her to the hotel restaurant and pointed to a large booth in the far corner, at which sat a brooding figure she took to be Harry.

She thanked the bellboy and walked towards the table. As she approached, she realized he looked different from the young man who left two years ago. His angular face was more squared, and where he once had patchy stubble, he now wore a full beard that was groomed haphazardly. He looked taller, maybe by just an inch, but it was difficult to tell while he sat. Perhaps the most striking change was his lack of glasses. Luna couldn't remember having seen him without them.

A beaming smile appeared on her face as she saw him turn to look at her, but his normally bright green eyes had an unfocused, glassy quality in the dim light of the restaurant.

He stared at her blankly as she approached, but eventually recognition appeared on his face as she walked into the light, which shone down from above the table. His eyebrows shot up past his fringe.

"Luna?" he asked. His voice was deep, gravelly and unwelcoming, but his eyes lit up at the sight of her.

"Harry, I'm so happy to finally see you!" she said, the brilliant smile never wavering.

He stood to greet her, but didn't respond. She stopped an arm's length from him, unsure how to proceed. "Happy Christmas," she said in a soft voice.

"Happy Christmas." His voice was flat, and he sat back down unceremoniously.

Luna bit back a frown at the chilly greeting, and she felt a pang of disappointment that he had not even noticed the extra effort she put into her appearance. Perhaps he had been confounded by the wrackspurts that seemed to follow him, or perhaps he was just having a hard time. The war never really ended for Harry. While everybody in Britain had begun the healing process over two years ago, he had gone after the Death Eaters who fled to the Continent.

Luna slid into the chair across from him and noticed the small glass of clear liquid sitting in front of him. "You know most people don't start drinking until after noon," she said.

"They do in this part of Europe," he said defensively.

"Do they really? I suppose I'll have one too then."

"Do you even drink?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Not usually, no," Luna said and began waving both hands wildly at the bartender to get his attention. When he looked over, she gestured to Harry's drink. "There, now you won't look so sad drinking alone," she said, turning back to Harry.

Harry frowned, for some reason.

Neither of them spoke as the waiter returned with her drink. She grabbed the small glass delicately and brought it up for a smell. Her nose wrinkled at the astringent scent of pure liquor.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Vodka, straight up," Harry said, taking another sip.

Her eyebrows creased as she lifted the glass above her head to look through the bottom of the glass. "Is it good?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, it's poison, and it tastes like shit."

Luna gave him a quizzical look before taking a deep sip of the clear liquid. The taste caused her to give a small retch and the burn that followed made her cough as it ran down her throat.

Harry chuckled at her reaction.

She covered her mouth as she wheezed, her eyes watering. Before long, her stomach settled, and she gazed at Harry through watery eyes. "That is quite horrible. Why do you drink this?" she asked.

"Habit," he said, shrugging.

"Habit?" asked Luna, tilting her head to the side.

"Yes." His tone was harsh; his jaw was set. "You want to ask me about it don't you?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted.

"Because that's all anybody wants to talk about, my drinking," he snapped, and then he turned away and took a drink of his vodka.

Luna stared into her glass. After a while, she said, "Dad died."

"Welcome to the club. The dead dad club… And mums too, actually. Look at us, a couple of peas in a pod."

She was silenced once more. Luna couldn't help but think this didn't sound like the Harry Potter she knew. Had he really become so bitter? When she tried again, her voice was cautious. "Neville is apprenticing with Professor Sprout at Hogwarts."

At this, Harry's expression actually brightened. "Is he now? Did he leave the Aurors?" he leaned back in his chair, more relaxed.

Bolstered, Luna said, "No, he's only apprenticing part time for now, but I think he means to, eventually."

"Good for him."

"He's dating Hannah Abbott."

Harry chuckled from deep in his chest, and the sound made Luna smile. "I knew he had it in him! Go Nev." He picked up his glass and raised it towards Luna. "Well here's to them. I hope they make it."

Luna drank with him. It really was an awful drink.

More chipper now, Luna said, "Ron and Hermione—"

"Fuck Ron and Hermione," Harry spat, and suddenly he was hunched over again, dark and brooding. "Don't talk to me about Ron and Hermione. I don't even want to hear about Ron and Hermione."

"They should be here now, giving me shit about my drinking and lecturing me about not coming home for Christmas and…" His voice cracked and trailed off. He drained his vodka, and raised it up above his head, signaling to the bartender. "You know how I spent last Christmas? Getting pissed in a shitty bar. Just like this Christmas actually, maybe I'll make a tradition out of it." He looked away.

"They probably meant to come tomorrow. Neville isn't here either," she said.

"Ron and Hermione are my two best friends. Neville's not, I wouldn't expect him to be here."

 _I'm not your best friend either,_ she thought _._ She already knew it, but it hurt to hear it put so bluntly. After the war ended, she and Harry got together every few months, just the two of them. It was always spontaneous and never conventional, the same way Luna did everything. She never had that kind of relationship with anyone else.

The waiter came by with Harry's second drink, and he downed it in one go. "But don't listen to me, I'm just a fucking alcoholic," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were full of pain. "A no good, piece of shit alcoholic, who fulfilled his destiny at seventeen."

This wasn't him, couldn't be. This was a changeling masquerading as her friend. "Harry—"

"And you know what the worst part is? I didn't even start drinking to numb the pain. No, emotional neglect is just par for the course for Harry-Bloody-Boy-Who-Lived-Potter." Harry's hands clenched into fists, and his eyes looked almost manic. "Do you want to know what really happened? Where I've been for the last two years?"

"I don't know," Luna replied, suddenly feeling small.

"You don't want to know, and I don't want to tell you." He set his jaw, and his eyes began darting back and forth. "But I'm going to anyway."

"I spent the last twenty months undercover as a Russian mafia contact for a Romanian crime syndicate. Sounds simple right? Wrong. Every wizard in Europe knows what Harry Potter looks like, so I can't just waltz into Eastern Europe pretending to be a criminal. I had to be in disguise under Polyjuice the entire time." The volume of his voice began rising. "And there's only one believable reason somebody drinks from a flask every hour, and that's if they are an alcoholic, so that's what I became."

He shot to his feet. "And what does a Russian alcoholic drink? Vodka! Straight up! That's why I'm a fucking alcoholic! And that…" he began. His voice became a whisper. "That's not even the worst part." His chest heaved, and his whole body was tensed.

Luna braced for whatever he was about to say, but it never came.

He stood there, staring at her. His need for privacy had won out over whatever it was he wanted to get off his chest.

Luna felt her body relax, and she finally found her voice. "You used Polyjuice for an entire year?"

"Yes."

"And you were drinking heavily that entire time?"

"You bet I was," he said, holding his chin up in defiance, daring her to lecture him.

Luna's expression became very grave and for a moment, a wave of anger washed over her. Anybody who had taken O.W.L. level potions could tell him that mixing Polyjuice and alcohol on even one occasion was dangerous. He was killing himself, slowly, and he knew it.

What could she do? Ron and Hermione would lecture him and berate him and whip him into shape. Perhaps that is what he wanted, and perhaps they were whom he needed, but right now, she was all he had.

"Part of me wants to believe that I'm talking to an imposter. That real Harry is off somewhere, playing in a band with Stubby Boardman, and the Harry I'm talking to now is a shapeshifter wearing his form, but I think that would be unfair to you. I'm very sorry you had to go through that, Harry," said Luna. Her voice came out unsteady as her lower lip quavered.

A flurry of emotions crisscrossed his features as his expression cycled through surprise, confusion, anguish and eventually guilt.

Harry deflated, collapsed back into his seat, and bowed his head. With a sudden lurch, a strangled noise escaped his throat as his palms came up to knead into his temples

He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a deep shuddering breath. "Oh Merlin. I'm so sorry, Luna…"

When his eyes reopened, the glassy quality had vanished, replaced with a desperate clarity. For that brief moment, their eyes met, and look of intensity blazed within him. She felt like she was being judged. It was like staring down a hippogriff.

Eventually, he spoke. "I can't believe – I mean, I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just that – Shit, everything is so fucked up over here. Europe is falling apart and there's nothing I can do about it." He sniffed. He was all over the place, volatile.

Before she could even begin to formulate a response, they were interrupted by an electronic ringing sound. She jumped as he suddenly jerked up, fumbling in his pockets for the source of the noise.

He pulled out a small device that Luna assumed was a mobile telephone. He looked at the screen, cursed under his breath, and brought it to his ear.

"Harry Potter." His voice was suddenly strong and unwavering. He paused to listen to somebody speaking on the other side, and a well-worn grimace formed on his face. Half a minute passed before he said, "Understood, on my way," and ended the call. "I'm so sorry Luna, but I have to go."

"Right now?" Luna asked, standing to match him.

"Yes, I'm sorry, but it can't wait," Harry said as he motioned for her to follow him and headed to the lobby of the hotel.

Luna had to jog to keep up with his hurried walk.

"What happened?"

"I can't really talk about it, but I think things are about to get a lot worse over here."

Luna stopped to process what he'd just said as he walked up to the counter and started talking to the receptionist in fluent German.

He turned back around and spoke with sincerity to his voice that had been absent before. "Luna, thank you for coming today, it means more to me than you'll ever know. You came halfway across Europe, and I was a sodding git to you. I'm not really a very good friend am I?" His eyes were soft. A sad, apologetic smile appeared on his face, and he seemed almost sober, but for the scent of liquor on his breath.

Before she could respond, the bellboy walked up with their coats. Harry took them and handed him a twenty euro note. Motioning for Luna to follow him, he passed over her coat and began walking towards the exit.

They stopped outside on the sidewalk and were assaulted by a draught of frigid wind.

Harry looked either direction before turning around to talk to her again. "I was hoping to return to England next month, but I don't think that's going to happen now. I… don't know when I'll be back."

She stared down at her feet, and hugged herself. It wasn't fair. The drums of war were beating in Europe once again, and the wizarding world couldn't be bothered to find another hero. When she looked up at Harry, he was checking his watch as though he really wanted to leave.

"Harry," she said, her voice barely audible over the ambient noise of the busy street.

His head jerked around, and their eyes locked.

She rushed forward and threw her arms around him. Harry let out a surprised "oof" as she collided with him, but after a couple seconds she felt his arms wrap low around her waist.

She pressed the side of her head against his chest, committing the feeling of warmth and sound of his heartbeat to memory. She didn't know if or when she would see him next. "You're never alone, Harry. Even when there are hundreds of miles between us, you still have your friends."

Harry said nothing, but squeezed her tighter in response.

"Please take care of yourself Harry, I couldn't stand to lose you," she said as she felt the sting of unshed tears behind her eyes.

"I'll try."

"No, promise me you'll come back."

"I… don't know if I can promise that."

She leaned back in his embrace to meet his eyes. "Promise."

He was torn, she could tell, but eventually he relented. "I promise," he said.

"Good bye. Happy Christmas, Harry."

"Good bye, Luna."

Colour blossomed on her cheeks at the warmth that filled his eyes, and the barest of smiles reached his lips. After a moment's hesitation, they parted, and not ten seconds later, Luna heard the distinct crack of Disapparition.


	2. Homecoming Party

A/N: Don't be alarmed that this chapter is from Hermione's POV. I looked at it from every direction, and hers was the only POV that made sense. This story is first and foremost about Luna and Harry, and you'll see that reflected in this chapter despite the POV.

Big thanks to my beta moon and the great people over at the /r/hpfanfiction IRC (especially Selethe and TIHP) for the input for this chapter.

* * *

Poison and Cure

 _Chapter 2: Homecoming Party_

Hermione Granger weaved her way through the throngs of people crowded into the International Arrivals Hall of the Ministry of Magic, Atrium Level. There was an air of excitement all around as witches and wizards waited to greet the ministry workers, mostly Aurors and Hitwizards, returning from the conflict that recently ended in Eastern Europe.

She approached the entrance to the Staging Area restricted to ministry officials only, where a lanky wizard, who couldn't have been more than a two years out of Hogwarts, sat looking very bored.

She presented her badge. "Hermione Granger, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Hermione Granger?" The man's eyes bulged upon hearing her name, and he straightened in his seat. "Yes, please come through."

Hermione sighed. Since Voldemort's defeat, she, Ron and some of the other contributors to the war had been subjected to some of the star treatment that Harry grew up with. It was tiresome.

The Staging Area was little more than an antechamber adjacent the Portkey Hall. Oddly, most of the people in the room were packed into the corner, standing around somebody who was presumably important. The crowd shifted, and for a brief instant she saw directly into the center of the mass.

Hermione grinned as she glimpsed the mahogany colored face of Kingsley Shacklebolt contorted in irritation. The people had him surrounded and each was talking over one another, vying for his attention like a litter of piglets fighting for a teat.

 _I suppose I should bail him out_ , she thought. Hermione took a moment to tamp down her amusement into a neutral expression and then approached. "Minister," she called.

Nine heads swiveled in unison to face her.

"Hermione," said Kingsley. The crowd parted, albeit reluctantly, as the Minister surged forward to give her a warm, two handed handshake with a genuine smile.

"Come to meet Ron?" he asked.

"Of course, but Harry too. It's been… a while since I've seen him."

"Ahh yes"—he nodded solemnly—"I spoke with him in Romania last Friday. You haven't seen him since he left England—what, four years ago?"

The crowd behind Kingsley began thin. She and Kingsley made an intimidating pair, politically speaking.

"Yes, four years. I'm anxious to see him again." she answered, strain in her voice.

Hermione had planned to meet Harry in Munich, Germany two years ago on Boxing Day, but missed her chance when his leave was rescinded a day ahead of schedule.

"No need to worry. I hear Ron has been keeping him company since we finished sorting out the Romanian Ministry," assured Kingsley. The fighting had ended over two months ago in December of 2003.

"Yes, Ron wrote to me about it. Was it really necessary to keep them there through February?" she asked.

"Rebuilding takes a long time, but now that the Prime Minister has been restored to power, we can let the Romanians take over."

"But surely Harry could have come back sooner. He's been there since the conflict started."

"It was his choice, Hermione. He could have come back any time, but he wanted to stay. You know Harry," said Kingsley, with a sad smile.

Hermione could only nod. She knew all of this of course. She'd had this conversation before, multiple times with different people, but it didn't make it any easier.

A _crack_ of apparition sounded from the adjoining room, followed by several more in quick succession. Witches and wizards began pouring in from the Portkey Room, and it was only a few minutes before Hermione spotted her husband. Ron strolled into the Staging Area, carrying a case of beer marked with Cyrillic letters.

"Ron!" she screamed, and ran up to embrace him. It was awkward maneuvering around the large box, but she managed to wrap an arm around his neck and give him a peck on the lips.

"Hi, Love. Miss me?" He grinned widely.

"Of course. Why in Merlin's name haven't you just shrunk this thing?" she asked, gesturing to the case.

"It messes with the fizz," he said.

"No, it does not! Culver's Law of—" She was silenced by his index finger pressed to her mouth.

"No magic theory now, Love. Let's get home," he said, before kissing her wetly on the lips.

Hermione harrumphed, but didn't complain. The sloppy kiss had sated any desire to argue with him. "Where's Harry?" she asked, craning her neck to look around him.

Ron's expression darkened. "He'll be through in a few minutes. Said he'd owl me when he gets home."

"Is something wrong?"

"Not really. It's just that— Well, you read my owl right? He's… different."

"Different how? Is he alright?"

"You remember what he was like in fifth year when Voldemort was fucki— sorry, messing with his head. It's like that, but… worse. Way worse," Ron explained. "Plus he's drinking. A lot."

Hermione looked around to make sure nobody was listening in. Reporters weren't allowed in the Staging Area, but things like this tended to get out if overheard. "This probably isn't a good place to talk about it. Why don't you run home and floo your mum, and I'll wait here for Harry."

"Okay, but don't wait too long. He told me a couple weeks ago that he was going to try to stay longer. I don't think he's excited about coming home," Ron said.

Hermione sighed. This didn't bode well. "I'm worried about him, Ron."

Ron shifted the beer to hold it with one hand, put his other arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "He'll be fine, Hermione. You know Harry, he bounces back from everything."

"I know. It's just hard."

"I'm going to go down to check in at the office, and then I'll meet you at the Burrow, 'kay?"

She offered him a strained smile. "Alright, see you in a bit, Ron. I love you," she said, giving him a peck on the lips.

"Love you too, and seriously, don't stay too long. If he's not through in the next twenty minutes, he's probably not coming."

Hermione nodded as he took his leave, stopping to sign an autograph and chat with reporters. He basked in the attention with a wide smile plastered onto his face; she shook her head.

Not long after Ron departed, Hermione saw Neville exit the Portkey Room with the crowd of people coming through. She had seen him just a few months prior as he was only a Reserve Auror at the time the Eastern European Conflict began. He had only been deployed during the final push into Romania.

"Neville!"

He was on the other side of the room making his way towards the lifts, but turned to face her as his name was called. He made his way over and gave her a quick hug. "Hey, Hermione. It's great to see you. How are you?"

"I'm really good, thanks for asking. Congratulations on the Order of Merlin by the way, Third Class was it?"

"Second actually. Gran sent Kingsley a twenty-two foot letter explaining why Order of Merlin, Third Class was," he brought his hands up to gesture air quotes, "'insufficient and insulting' for an achievement of that caliber, so they changed it to Second Class. I'm surprised it wasn't First Class, that woman is scary. I know better than anybody. "

The two laughed together, before Neville asked, "Are you here waiting for Ron? I thought he came through before me."

"Oh he did, I'm actually waiting for Harry. Did you see him before you came over?"

"No, I haven't seen him since we ate breakfast with Ron and Igor."

"Who's Igor?"

"Oh, he's one of the German blokes from our special operations unit. I guess Harry's been fighting with him since the war started."

Hermione smiled. "Well, it's good to hear Harry's made some friends."

A far off expression formed on Neville's face, and he nodded slowly. "Friends, yeah… Anyway, it's great to see you, Hermione, but I have to run and meet Hannah out there," Neville said, gesturing towards the waiting area. "Harry should be along shortly, there weren't many left when I went through."

"Ok, good to know, tell her I said 'hi.'"

"Will do. See you, Hermione."

Hermione watched as Neville, too, was ambushed by reporters, but he pushed through to greet Hannah with a surprisingly deep kiss. He'd probably be hearing about that from his grandmother, Augusta, when it made tomorrow's edition of the Daily Prophet.

Over the next half hour the flood of wizards thinned to a slow trickle, and Hermione began to worry. She took a seat next to the wizard manning the entrance to the Staging Area, chatting idly with him while she waited.

Thirty minutes later, and thoroughly irritated, Hermione received a message from Ron asking if she had found Harry and letting her know he would be at the Burrow. She sent her negative response back with the runner to send via owl, then she entered the Portkey Room to wait for him there.

Finally, after ninety minutes, Hermione was riding the lift down to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. As soon as the doors slid open, she stomped up to the reception desk.

"Has Harry Potter checked in today?" she asked, sounding harsher than she intended.

The plump, young witch at the desk jumped. "Harry P— What? Oh, hello Ms. Granger." She stared for a moment upon recognizing Hermione, before catching herself and jumping into action. "Right, Harry Potter…" She began manually sifting through the parchment in front of her. "Harry Potter…"

 _It's about time the wizarding world started using computers_ , thought Hermione.

The girl stopped on one of the pages, reading carefully. She looked back up at Hermione. "It looks like Mr. Potter hasn't checked into the Auror Office yet, Ms. Granger. Do you want to leave a message for him?" she asked politely.

Hermione groaned. Why did Harry have to be so difficult? "Yes, tell him to owl me when he gets in— if he gets in— alright?"

"Absolutely. No problem, Ms. Granger," she said with a nervous smile.

"Is there any way I can find out if he's arrived?"

"I… I don't know, sorry."

"Thank you," Hermione said, before turning on her heel and leaving abruptly. She instantly regretted being so short with the young witch. The girl had been perfectly pleasant every time Hermione had visited to the Auror Office.

She had made it about ten steps before she heard her name called, and turned around.

"Ms. Granger!" The witch had gotten up and was now briskly walking over. She fought the urge to twist away as the girl leaned in close. "Ms. Granger," she whispered conspiratorially while glancing in either direction. "You didn't hear this from me, but my notes say that Harry Potter was fined this morning for entering the country illegally."

Hermione stared at her evenly. "When was this?"

"He apparated into London from Romania a little over an hour ago. The fine was three-thousand Galleons."

What was Harry thinking? Hermione knew that Ministry Code 625 Section B was taught in Auror Training, because she had helped Ron study for it during his certification courses. Harry might be a special case, but even he the Boy-Who-Lived had to get his certifications before starting field work.

"What's your name?" asked Hermione.

"My name? Oh— Katherine Biggs, Ms. Granger." she said.

She placed her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Thank you, Katherine, I really appreciate it. You can call me Hermione."

The witch flushed at the praise. "I— thank you… Hermione."

"I'll see you later Katherine, and don't worry." Hermione tapped the side of her nose and gave the young witch a sly smile before turning to leave.

* * *

The Burrow was alive with frenzied activity by the time Hermione apparated into the backyard. When word had gotten out that the British forces were returning from Romania today, each member of the Weasley clan had been summoned to The Burrow to celebrate.

Hermione heard a high pitched scream followed by a naked Victoire Weasley darting out from the back door with Teddy Lupin in hot pursuit. He held a sparking wand high over his head, aimed at Victoire.

Hermione thought it might be a play wand, but then Bill Weasley burst from the door shouting for Teddy to stop. Hermione acted without thinking. With a jab of her wand, Teddy was upended and held aloft by a magical force acting upon his right foot.

She stiffened, horrified for a moment that she'd used dark magic on a small child, but she breathed a sigh of relief when he started giggling.

Bill caught up to him and snatched him out of the air. "Hah! Gotcha, you little monster. Give me back my wand," he exclaimed, prying his wand from the boy's fingers.

"Seriously, Bill? Disarmed by a six year old?" Hermione called.

"Six and a half!" cried Teddy.

"He took it out of my back pocket," Bill said defensively.

"That's even worse! You could lose a buttock that way, you know" she said, her voice full of mirth.

"Oh can it, Granger." He chuckled deeply, before carrying Teddy over and kissing her on the cheek. "Hi Hermione, where've you been? Ron's looking for you."

"Let me down! Aunty Mione, Uncle Bill won't let me down!" Teddy said, struggling.

"Daddy, Teddy used magic on me!" shouted Victoire from beside Hermione.

"What did Nana say about stealing wands, Teddy?" Hermione said.

"I wasn't going to do any magic! Uncle George told me to ask Uncle Bill if I could polish his wand," said Teddy.

Hermione looked to Bill, aghast. There was a sudden outbreak of laughter from the porch of the Burrow.

"Yeah, he just wants to polish your wand Bill, why won't you let him!" called George Weasley.

"Yeah!" Teddy agreed.

"George! That's disgusting. What have you been doing to this poor child?" asked Hermione, despite Bill's laughter.

"What's wrong with that? Good wandcare is important, Hermione. I think Ron was saying his could use a good polishing too."

An angry retort was on the tip of her tongue, but somebody else got to it first. S _mack!_

"Ouch! Mum, what the heck?"

"Don't be vulgar, George. Oh hello, Hermione, Dear. When did you arrive?" Molly Weasley had emerged from the back door in time to hear George's last statement.

"Hi, Molly. Just a minute ago," she said.

Just then Victoire let out another high pitch scream and darted away. Teddy took off after her, followed by a laughing Bill and George.

Molly gave a contented sigh. "It's great to have children in the house again, though I wouldn't mind a few more," she said, glancing meaningfully at Hermione.

"Ah, yes... It is nice. Err, is Ron inside?" asked Hermione, avoiding eye contact.

"Yes, he said you were going to bring Harry. Didn't he come with you?" Molly asked.

"No, he didn't. I just stopped by to tell you I'm going to stop by Grimmauld Place to see Harry. I missed him at the Ministry."

Molly frowned. "He should really find another place to live. That old, dark house is no place to raise a family."

Hermione couldn't disagree there. "Can you let Ron know I stopped by? I'll see if I can get Harry to come back with me in a few minutes."

"Alright, I'll let him know, dear."

"Thanks Molly." She gave her mother-in-law a quick hug, before disapparating.

* * *

Many years had passed since Hermione last visited Grimmauld Place, and Number Twelve looked no different than how she remembered. Grit and grime covered the walls, and the decrepit wooden front door looked to be barely hanging on as the lower hinges had completely rotted apart from the door.

The tarnished silver door knocker in the form of a twisted serpent creaked pitifully as she used it to announce her arrival with a series of loud cracks.

Waiting a brief moment, Hermione knocked again, this time louder. Predictably, this too yielded no response from within.

"Oh no," Hermione said, a sardonic cadence laced into her tone, "I must have missed him. I guess I'll have to return home." She glared at the door for a couple seconds before hammering both fists into the door, chips of black paint splitting off.

"Harry! Do you think I was born yesterday? Open the damn door!"

Nothing. The weight of the entire day came crashing down on her at once. The sheer _gall_ of this man. To leave her standing at the Ministry for hours, waiting for him like a hand servant only to be told by a secretary that he wasn't even going to be at the ministry. Now for Harry to pretend he wasn't even home when he so obviously had to be? How dare he! Harry had a moody steak, but this was unlike him.

She took the knocker in one hand and began slamming it repeatedly, while banging her other hand against it. "HARRY! OPEN THIS DOOR NOW OR I'LL BLOW IT OFF THE HINGES!"

Just when she was about to make good on her threat, there were a series of metallic clicks, and the door swung inward.

Leaning heavily against the doorway, Harry stood scowling at her. Or at least it would have been a scowl if he wasn't slack-jawed and drooling onto his shirt, and if his eyes were sharp instead of glassy and unfocused.

"Whad'you want?" he asked in a controlled slur. Apparently, such a thing was possible.

"I waited for you at the ministry for almost two hours," Hermione said, through clenched teeth.

Harry shrugged. "I didn' take a portkey."

"I know! I stopped by the—Hey let's go inside, the neighbors are watching," she said. Indeed, the neighbors on either side had both opened their doors to peer at her.

Surprisingly and infuriatingly, Harry didn't relent, but instead stared at her, swaying against the door.

 _Is he really being this much of an arse?_ "Harry. Let. Me. In," she demanded.

"Fine." He pulled the door open fully to let her in, then turned about and shuffled down the long, gloomy hallway of Number Twelve.

Upon entering the house, Hermione was met by the cough-inducing stench of smoke and ash. She closed the door behind her, taking care to latch one of the many deadbolts, and followed Harry towards the dining room. It didn't take long for her to locate the source of the odor.

"Harry, you didn't!" Where the portrait of Walburga Black once hung, there was now only the blackened and exposed brick of the loadbearing hallway wall. It was still dripping wet where Harry had doused the fire.

"Huh?" Harry asked, appearing in the doorway with a bottle of clear liquor in one hand. "Oh, that. Turns out permanent sticking charms don't protect 'gainst magical fire."

Hermione gaped. "You could have burned down the building!" The nearly empty bottle in his hand seemed to indicate that it was no use arguing with him at this point, but she couldn't find it in her to let the act go unscolded. "What were you thinking!"

Shrugging, Harry returned to the dining room, where he plopped into a chair. "No one's gonna miss the old bitch."

Hermione grit her teeth, but let the issue drop. She sat stiffly across from him and watched him nurse from the bottle as though it was filled with some antidote he desperately needed. She studied him for a long time, during which he seemed content to just sit in silence.

His normally short, messy hair was now down to his shoulders, and his facial hair was unkempt. Sure, Harry never cared too much about his appearance, but most of the time he was at least presentable. More alarming was the yellow tint in his eyes that was juxtaposed against his pale skin. He clearly hadn't been taking care of himself, mentally or physically.

"I stopped by the Auror Office," said Hermione, breaking the silence.

He looked up at her wordlessly

"You've been fined three-thousand Galleons for entering the country illegally."

"I know. They sent an owl," Harry said.

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Better than dealin' with the crowds. The media," Harry spat the last word like it was bitter in his mouth. "Worth every knut."

"And what about me?" Hermione said with a sharp gesture towards herself. "I waited almost two hours for you."

"I never asked you t'do that."

"You don't have to! We're friends. That's what friends _do_. They greet each other when one of them returns from a long trip," she said, attempting to keep the bossiness out of her tone as she knew he wouldn't appreciate it right now.

"You never told me you'd be waitin'."

"I haven't seen you in four years!" she insisted, her voice rising.

A lump formed in Hermione's throat at the look of anger and hurt he gave her. Did he blame her for not meeting him in Munich? It wasn't her fault that his leave had been rescinded.

Swallowing uncomfortably, she looked away from his glare to look around the room. There was a case of liquor bottles half-stuffed into a cabinet that was too small, and a couple of large military-issue bags slung onto the counter. Had he been living out of those bags?

Four years was a long time. Maybe Ron was right. Maybe _this_ war had changed Harry in a way Voldemort never could.

She turned back to Harry to find him staring at her. Unlike before, his gaze was focused and without malice.

"You look differen'," he commented. He still slurred, but now his tone was even, under control. "Your hair's straighter."

She ran her hands through her hair and brushed it behind her ear. "Yes, I started doing it like this last year."

"You got more dental work done."

She nodded. "My dad offered to do some more work for my birthday. Muggle dentistry is lightyears ahead of magic for cosmetic procedures."

"It looks good."

Hermione smiled, looking him over to pay back the compliment, but for the life of her, she couldn't think of—

"Don't even bother," he said, threading his fingers through his overgrown beard meaningfully. "I know I've let myself go."

Their eyes locked for a moment, before a toothy grin split his face, and they laughed together.

The tension finally broke, and they were able to spend some time catching up with each other's lives. She told him about her work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and her increasingly involved role at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

As they talked, she could almost see the years of separation and combat begin to melt off of him like cleaning the tarnish off old silver. He didn't say much about himself, or his time in the war, but he told her a few stories about Ron and Neville after the fighting had ended in Romania.

It was good to see him smile again.

During a lull in the conversation, Hermione took the opportunity she'd been waiting for. "Harry," she began as casually as she could manage. "Molly is having a bit of a get together tonight to celebrate yours and Ron's homecoming. She wanted me to invite you to stop by."

His eyes shot up to study her. She could see the wheels turning in his head. An almost hopeful expression played across his face, but then, so fast she barely caught it, his eyes darted over to the half-empty bottle of liquor sitting at the edge of the table. He hadn't so much as looked at it this whole time.

Sensing that she might be losing him, Hermione pulled out her trump card. "Teddy's going to be there."

Her words had the opposite effect of what she'd been expecting as the same familiar darkness came crashing onto his face. The haunted droop to his eyes and ugly scowl he'd worn when she first seen him returned, and he snatched the liquor beside him.

"I don' think that's such a good idea," he said, pulling deeply from the bottle.

"I was just hoping—"

"But that's why you came isn't it? To get me to go to your little get together. Come over here and pretend you just want to chat, but really you're here to drag me back, so everyone can check up on me to see what state I'm in."

"That's not it at all, Molly just—"

"Oh, m'sure, Molly sent you down here to mother me. Get me to clean up my act."

"What? Last week, Kingsley told me you'd be—"

"I'm not one of your lil projects that you can fix up like your precious—"

Growling, Hermione stomped her foot on the ground then shouted, "HARRY! WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME?"

He glared at her. He didn't speak, but instead took another drink.

"I don't know what the hell you think is happening right now, but as soon as we found out you'd be coming home today, Molly started planning a big party to welcome you home. Not Ron, he stopped by just last month. You! I waited for you at the Ministry for over an hour, and—"

Harry opened his mouth.

"DON'T! I know you didn't ask me to, but I did it anyway, because I care about you. We all do. I don't know why the hell you think I'd be here trying to get you to clean up your act, because if you remember, I haven't so much as received a letter from you since you left. I didn't even know what to expect!"

"And don't you dare pretend that you couldn't have sent an owl that whole time," she said, jabbing a finger at him. "If you don't want to go to the Burrow tonight, that's fine, but I'm not the one you're hurting the most." She knew it was a low blow, but in the heat of the moment, it just came out.

Harry didn't so much as flinch as he stared back at her with crossed arms. Then suddenly, _BANG_! He slammed the bottle he was still holding down onto the table.

"Leave."

Hermione felt a flash of white hot anger, and made to reply, but the logical part of her mind took over. She wasn't going to get through to him, not like this.

"Floo me if you change your mind. I'll be at the Burrow, with all your friends _and_ _family_ ," she said.

As she turned to apparate, she heard the sound of glass shattering against the stone wall.


End file.
